


To Touch The Wind

by Tilltheendwilliwrite



Series: Bucky Barnes One Shots [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Smut, тэг заменён на Don't copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 20:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16981614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilltheendwilliwrite/pseuds/Tilltheendwilliwrite
Summary: The PR girl for the Avengers leaves her laptop open one day when she thinks no one is around. Bucky stumbles across it, discovering the wonders of the computer age include such things as Tumblr and Fanfiction.





	To Touch The Wind

## Bucky Barnes Fic

* * *

_I just want to touch his lips. Just once. Just run my thumb across the plush velvet of his pouty lower lip and see if it is a soft as it seems. But he doesn’t see me._

_I’m invisible. I am the least of them. The one who is normal, unseen, unimportant. I am the small, insignificant one catering to the will of the young gods, the new gods, the ones who save the world._

Bucky frowned. “What the hell?”

Heather’s laptop was sitting open on the kitchen table, logged into a website he wasn’t familiar with. The header said Tumblr, but the thing he was reading seemed to be a fiction of some kind on an open Google document. The screen was split, half and half, and he sat to read more after glancing around to see where she’d gone.

_Why would the gods ever look down on me? I have nothing to offer but my adoration. My prayers to this new generation. To these people who, through grace and goodness, rise to the challenge over and over. Who stand against evil and keep us safe._

_But I still desire to touch._

_The sharp jaw and rough stubble. The dimpled chin. The plush lips. To have him turn those glacial blue eyes on me._

_Would it freeze my blood to have the god of Winter focus his attention my way? Or would it be a blazing inferno, like laying before a roaring fire while the blizzard howled outside? Hands of flesh and metal -_

Jerking back, Bucky stared at the screen with his mouth open. It couldn’t be, but the person she was describing sounded an awful lot like him. Leaning forward, he read a little faster, uncertain when she’d be returning.

_-and metal. Would they be gentle, soft, or would they take what they wanted? Would he drive me up, fast and hard, take me to the edge, leave me there crying and screaming his name? Or would he love me gently, with slow passion and tender caresses?_

_I have not the answer, only my imagination. I imagine the soft touch of his metal fingers over my flesh, dragging, drawing pictures, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in his wake. I imagine the glide of his lips, the velvet press to the fluttering beat in my neck. The soft suck he would bring to the beaded peak of my breast. I imagine the scrape of teeth as he journeys down, the swirl of his tongue, the feel of flesh fingers sliding through-_

Footsteps had him jerking to his feet, leaping away and rushing out the other door before she caught sight of him.

Bucky’s heart beat hard in his chest, so hard he had to stop down the hall and press a hand to it. “Fuck…” he hissed. That had been seriously hot. Like iron spike in his pants hot.

He’d never even had an inkling she felt that way about him. At least, he hoped it was him. It was a bit hard to imagine it was someone else what with the rather obvious references to metal hand and fingers. Still, he would need to do a little reconnaissance, and he knew just how to find out.

Striding toward his room, Bucky went in search of his rarely used iPad.

***

It took him a week to wade through Tumblr, figuring out how it all worked without asking for help. He really didn’t need anyone finding out about what he was doing late at night when he wasn’t sleeping.

After figuring out how to build a profile, how to search, what _not_ to search - sweet Jesus he’d seen some _stuff_! - and finding her blog, he’d spent more than a few hours reading what he’d learned was called _fanfiction_.

Her Master List was a masterpiece as far as he was concerned. The writing was exceptional, the concepts vivid and imaginative. The worlds she created, the scenarios, the fictional missions were all highly entertaining.

He could see why she had well over two thousand followers.

The way she portrayed them all was spot on. Fairly easy to do considering Heather was the resident fixer of the team. PR was her forte, something he was understanding came naturally to her when she could weave a tale this well. But it was reading through the smut portions of her fictions he most enjoyed, and, yes, she was writing about him.

How fascinating. How… intriguing.

He’d always thought she was one classy dame. Much too classy to want anything to do with a mess like him, but, after reading about a few of the things she’d like him to do her… Bucky chuckled. He still thought she was classy, but the dirty side of her made him a little less concerned with his own issues.

The sound of high heels striding down the hall had him darkening the screen on the iPad. Sitting in the common room of Avengers Tower, he waited in the dark, letting only the glow from the city illuminate him on the sofa.

She had a routine he’d memorized weeks ago. After a long day, Heather came up to the lounge to sit, clear her head, and watch the city. Often, she drank Stark’s scotch, not that Tony cared. She was exceptional in her job, an essential and vital part of this team. Why she thought she was less important than the rest of them, Bucky couldn’t understand.

He’d watched her talk irate reporters around to her way of thinking with nothing more than a few choice words and a rational argument. The public and political view of the Avengers had only improved with her arrival. Without her, they’d be spending their days wading through red tape and politics instead of being young gods and taking on the evil in the world.

She was _important_ and anything but invisible.

There was no way he would allow her to continue to think so little of herself. If that meant showing her how much he admired her, how much he desired her, then he would.

***

Walking into the glass-enclosed lounge, she sighed as she stepped out of her heels. It had been a long ass day, one that had her insides twisted up in nerves.

Something was off. She just couldn’t put her finger on what. All she knew was Bucky had begun to look at her funny.

He watched her more than before, those blue eyes intent and focused in a way which made her a little uncomfortable.

She’d been racking her brain to figure out what she’d said or done to upset him, but it was useless. There was such little interaction between the two of them — something which had her sighing in regret.

The big super soldier was sweet and kind, a little damaged, but nothing time and a whole lot of TLC and understanding wouldn’t help with. She was under no misconceptions she could fix one James Buchanan Barnes, but she did wish he wasn’t so alone all the time.

He had Steve, her other young god, but where Steve was sun and light and morality, the Summer god in her fanfiction tales, Bucky was the night, shadows, the one who stepped in when something dark needed doing.

He kept Steve, Captain America, from smearing his reputation.

Bucky was the former Winter Soldier. His had been in tatters when she’d arrived what with the revelation of him having killed the Starks. He was the Winter god of her tales, cold and alone.

It hurt her heart to see him so.

Sighing, she made to go to the bar before taking a few minutes to clear her head when the voice coming out of the darkness nearly made her scream.

“Heather,” Bucky said.

“Give a girl a heart attack why don’t you, Bucky,” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

A gleam of white teeth could be seen when he smiled. Leaning forward, he picked up a heavy crystal tumbler and held it aloft. “Drink?”

Brow arching, she walked cautiously toward him, uncertain what this was all about.

A stream of light fell across his face, highlighting only his eyes. Vivid blue, watching her intently.

It made her nervous again. “Thanks. Something you need, Bucky?”

He patted the seat beside him. “Was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“Oh?” Sitting, she keep a little distance.

He was sprawled in the corner of the sofa with a previously unnoticed iPad in his lap. “Yeah, see, I found this website and was wondering if this is normal.” Pressing the home key, he pulled his Tumblr back up.

Trying hard not to react, she peered down at the screen. “Tumblr? It’s a bloggers website.”

“Not so much the website, but the content. See, I keep finding these… wild stories about Steve, Nat, Tony, hell, even me on here. People sure have vivid imaginations.” He blinked at her, voice and face hardly changing.

Sipping on her drink, needing the liquid courage, she shrugged. “Avengers are popular. People write fan fiction for those they find intriguing or desirable.”

He grunted softly, shifted closer, scrolled through his dashboard. “There’s this one author; I swear it’s like they live here.”

She fought the blush down when he brought up her blog. “Really?”

“Hm,” he nodded. “Oh, look. Something new.” He pressed his finger to her latest addition.

Oh… shit! She’d had a seriously hot dream the other night. Unable to forget about it she’d written it out and posted it earlier before coming upstairs. “Ugh, I’m not really familiar with… all that.”

He lifted his head, looked her dead in the eyes, and murmured, “Really? Because I’ve quite enjoyed your portrayal of Steve and me in _Young Gods_.”

All the colour drained from her face. “What?” she whispered.

The iPad landed on the coffee table with a clatter. “Though finding out you feel insignificant when you’re an essential part of this team really pissed me off,” he growled, turning toward her.

“What? I... I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The glass in her hand was whisked from it, plunked back on the table.

“Heather,” he rumbled, looming over her. Taking her hand, he lifted it slowly to his face as a blush burned through hers.

“You seem to want to touch them so badly. You could have just asked,” he murmured, placing the pads of her fingers on his lower lip. Holding her hand there, he whispered, “I wouldn’t have complained,” and nipped her fingers with his teeth.

“Bucky,” she groaned, embarrassed.

He kneeled up on the sofa, leaned over her, loomed larger than life as he pressed her back into the cushions. “You seem to think I don’t see you, doll, but I gotta tell you, I’ve never not seen you. I just didn’t think a swell dame like you would want anything to do with me.”

“Bucky… I,” her hand was still on his face, fingers stroking over his lips, finally touching the velvet softness she’d always imagined.

“I know, baby. Your feelings are pretty hard to miss in your writing.” He took her by the waist, dragging her underneath him on the couch where he could work open the buttons on her blouse.

Pulling at the belt and his pants, she wrenched them open, sank her hand inside, and wrapped it firmly around his erection.

“Fuck, doll face,” he groaned.

“Yes please,” she whimpered when his lips and teeth fell to her throat. Something in her skirt ripped when he shoved it up her legs only to stop and stare.

“That was true, too?” he gasped, staring at the lacy black garter belt clipped to her stockings. When he looked up at her, she felt seared from the outside in.

“I like fancy underwear,” she said with a blush. She liked her La Perla enough to write about it in her fictions.

He ran a finger beneath the strap leading down to her stocking. “Do you wear this _every day_?” he asked quietly.

Nodding, she stroked him firmly, shoving his pants down a little farther. “Any day I wear a skirt.”

“Fuck,” he hissed, sliding his fingers up her thigh to brush over damp satin. “There’s a visual I ain't ever gonna unsee.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Dollface, every time you walk by all I'm gonna be able to think about are these. Tenting my pants at regular intervals might get embarrassing.”

She snickered softly, suddenly filled with her own visual, and tugged at his heavy cock. “Guess I'll have to wear more pants.”

“Don't you dare,” he growled, tracing his fingers down over her core. “Jeez these ain't nothing more than a string, are they? Might as well be wearing nothin’ at all.”

“I've done that, too,” she confessed, watching as the ice blue of his eyes darkened.

When his finger slid down, plunged deep, it made her arch and moan, “Oh!”

“If Steve's the summer god, and I'm the winter one, what are you, Heather?”

“I'm,” she couldn’t speak with the way his fingers were working her up.

“You're the wind, that's what you are. The breeze which blows through, taking away the storm clouds. The hurricane which rages on our behalf. You dance between the gods and the people with ease and grace. That's what you are. You're the wind.”

A soft cry escaped her, one of wonder and amazement.

“You can only touch the wind if she lets you. Can I touch the wind, darlin’?” he asked, rubbing the heel of his hand against her.

“Yes!” she cried, arching up.

His mouth and those soft lips were suddenly on her chest, pressing, dragging, leaving trails of gooseflesh. They moved in tandem with his gentle fingers, and she sighed, finding his touch one of tenderness. His lips plucked at her beaded nipple through her bra while cool metal digits traced over her abdomen, drawing her shirt free of her skirt.

“I wanna take you in all the ways you described. Every sweet moment, every dirty tryst, every hot fuck against the wall, but I can't get over these fucking stockings, doll.” He ran his metal fingers over her thigh.

“Bucky, please,” she quivered beneath all the sensations. Her body burned and ached.

“Can I have you, Heather? Right here? Right now?”

“Ah! Yes, oh god…” she moaned, whimpering when his fingers disappeared, leaving her hollow and on the brink of something wonderful.

Rumbling a soft laugh, he drew the cup of her bra down with his teeth. There was a sharp snap and a slight sting when he broke the string of her thong. Metal fingers, cool and smooth stroked over her flesh. They dipped in, curled, rubbed and thrust until she was writhing, wild beneath him.

“Look how wet you are. Is that all for me, doll face?” he asked plucking and playing at her breast.

Moaning, she arched into his lips and teasing fingers. “Bucky!”

“You going to give me an offering, baby? Come for your Winter god?” His teeth closed on her breast, sucked hard.

The yearning ache at her core, the hot waves of lust, the flaring heat burst like a firework, sending sparks of sensation shooting through her. Keening out a moan, Heather’s knees closed around his hips, her hand stilling in the stroking she’d been doing of his cock.

Groaning, Bucky dragged his hand from her core, wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand away. He jerked her arms above her head, held them there, spread out over the sofa like an offering. His mouth, those soft lips, whispered up her skin, kissed her jaw, found her lips.

She moaned a second time when his tongue swept her lower lip. It tingled with his action causing her to open her mouth.

His tongue was there, sliding between her teeth, touching hers, twisting with it. He searched the depths, as if memorizing her flavour. He nipped her lip, kissed her sweetly, his hips settling against hers. “Can I?” he whispered, mouth working over her cheek, down to her throat, bit at her pulse.

A frantic nod and rock of hips granted her permission. She felt the hard, warm wedge of his cock as it stroked through her wet folds. The pleasure which filled her as he did had her panting to keep from crying out.

Blue eyes gleamed with desire and affection. His flesh hand traced down her body as he sank deep, bottoming out. Touching the straps of her garter belt, Bucky slipped his fingers beneath one and snapped it against her thigh. “These are so damn sexy.”

“I’ll wear them every day if you’d just _move_!” she cried, twisting beneath him.

He squeezed her thigh. Smirking, Bucky traced his hand up her hip, over the bunched fabric of her skirt, tickled the flesh of her stomach gently, and pulled the remaining cup of her bra down. Rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he said, “But I’m enjoying my offering. Savouring her. I’m not ready to devour her just yet.”

Whimpering, Heather tugged against his hold. “Bucky, please,” she begged.

“Not yet, baby.” He teased her breast, dropped his lips to her other one.

A startled cry of delight and distress escaped her. Pressing into his lips, she moaned, cried, whimpered as he plucked and played, tweaked and nipped at her. She could feel the slickness between her thighs growing, the length of his cock hard and insistent, twitching even as he refused to move.

He was so damn heavy it was impossible to get any leverage to move against him. While his hips remained still, his lips and tongue were a torture of never-ending sensation over her breasts.

Never before had she been so close to coming with just the playing of her nipples. “I can’t!” she wailed, body on fire.

“Yes, you can,” he whispered, giving a small rock of his hips.

It set her screaming, crying out when everything inside her again detonated, breaking her into shards, fragments of herself which tumbled to the ground with her release.

“Oh, baby,” Bucky moaned, head resting against her chest. “That’s the ticket, doll face. That’s what I wanted. Come all over your young god’s cock.”

Another round of whimpers escaped her, these from the ripples of pleasure his rocking body, slowly gliding length, were sending shooting through her core. “Winter…” she whispered, tugging on her hands again.

This time, he let her go. Bucky’s hand went behind him, jerking the dark blue henley off over his head, letting it fall to the floor.

Heather wrapped her arms around his neck, sliding one hand down his back as the other clenched in his hair. “I need you,” she moaned when his pace stayed slow. “Please, my winter god. Please, Bucky.”

A growl like thunder caused her to gasp, his pace doubled. The rhythmic thrusting, deep, full glides of rigid cock, had her throwing her head back in bliss. “Yes, yes… like that.”

“That does it for you, doll?” he grunted, labouring hard over her body.

She could only keen her pleasure. The thick shaft dragged in all the right places, filled her so right, shot streaks of lightning through her with each return.

The muscles of his back bunched beneath her hand, gliding beneath the silk of his skin. Sweat beaded down his spine, on his face, over his chest. His hands thrust beneath her, and the world was suddenly in full tilt when he sat up, went over backwards, taking her with him. A hard thrust up of his hips set her body humming as he shifted, so he was seated against the back of the couch.

“I gotta see it,” he said, when she looked at him questioningly. Stroking his hands over her shoulders, he brushed her shirt from her body. They returned to drag her skirt up over her head in a flurry of tearing seams and lifted arms.

Seated in his lap, Heather gazed down on him.

At the sculpted muscles, the vibranium arm, the scars which proclaimed him battle hardened. If any man could look like a concurring war god, it was this one.

“Bucky,” she moaned quietly when his hands ran reverently over her hips and down her thighs, around to cup her ass, squeeze it gently.

“Fuck that’s gorgeous. Look at you, baby.” His eyes travelled the sheer fabric of her bra now holding her breasts out like an offering; hands walked the lace over her belt, metal snapped the side of her tiny thong, tugging the destroyed garment off her completely. Flesh hand stroked the strap of her garter, down to tuck in the top of her stocking. “Now I’ll never be able to unsee this,” he said quietly, eyes full of admiration. “God, you’re beautiful.”

She smiled, a small blush appearing in her cheeks as she cupped his cheek. “I’m no young god,” she murmured, leaning forward to kiss him softly.

His hands went back to her ass, lifted her and lowered her down, both of them moaning quietly. “Goddess… wind goddess…” he rasped out, lifting his hips with each lower of hers.

Arching up and back, she rocked into him, rolling her hips as he thrust against her. Her fingers clenched on a metal shoulder, dug into a flesh one. She was so close. Everything ached and throbbed, clenched and spiralled.

Gasping, nearly sobbing, she drove her hips down at the same time he thrust up. The wave of orgasm crashed through her, had her crying out. The tight contractions of her body fought against his retreat.

He swelled, grew unbelievably harder. Drove up beneath her in an act which stole her breath. A deep moan, a guttural groan, and he jerked her up and back on his thighs, off him completely as thick ropes of come splashed across his heaving abs.

Reaching for him, Heather worked him through the final bursts with firm tight strokes until the straining cords in his neck relaxed. Even then she had little desire to move as she was currently straddling the _thighs of betrayal_ everyone went nuts over. Admittedly, she also found them sexy as hell.

With his pants currently down around his ankles, something she hadn’t noticed till right this moment, the powerful muscle was in full view.

“What the fuck is it about my thighs?” Bucky asked curiously, causing Heather to blush something fierce when she looked up.

“They’re… hot,” she confessed. Getting up, she walked toward the bar for a few paper towels, both of them rather… sticky now. Returning to him, his eyes never leaving her, she handed him his share as she used hers to clean her hands.

Wiping his abs off, Bucky snagged her hand, jerking her down, so she was now riding just one thigh. “Why?” he asked, shit-eating grin on his face.

Groaning, Heather covered her eyes. “How much fanfiction have you read?”

Chuckling, he cupped her breast, running his metal thumb over her exposed nipple. “Yours? All of it. Plus a few others.”

Unable to resist the temptation, she ground lightly down on the wide, thick thigh beneath her and whimpered. “That’s why,” she moaned. “Big, thick, hard. A girl could get off on your thigh alone.” When she looked to his face, his eyes had again darkened in lust.

“Should we test your theory… _wind_?”

Brow arching, she smiled. “If my winter god so desires it.”

His arms shot around her, dragged her to his chest, where his lips proceeded to ravage her own, leave her breathless and moaning. Finally breaking the kiss, he gasped, “Not here. I have condoms downstairs, and I want you in my bed.”

A frantic scramble ensued as clothes were swiftly donned.

Heather’s skirt was torn in two places. Her destroyed underwear stuffed in Bucky’s pocket. Grabbing the iPad off the table and her shoes from beside the door, she found herself pressed against the wall of the elevator with Bucky’s hand beneath her skirt shortly after he’d pushed the button for his floor.

“Sergeant Barnes?” came the voice of FRIDAY.

“What?” he nearly growled, clearly disliking the interruption.

“Mr. Stark bids me inform you he will be taking the cost of cleaning the couch out of your salary.”

Silence reigned for a few seconds as Heather stared a Bucky in shock before she burst out laughing. “Tell Stark he can take half out of mine!” she giggled as Bucky chuckled, his face pressed against her throat, and wicked fingers still up her skirt.


End file.
